Learned Habit
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: It's not a fear, it's not a fear, it's not a fear... No! Monroe is certainly not afraid of thunderstorms! Strictly friendship.


**Learned Habit**

Monroe didn't mind thunderstorms if he was holed up in his house. If he had a blanket, the T.V., and a good book or clock to distract him, then he was fine. Somewhat.

Thunderstorms had been his fear ever since he was a child. He didn't expect it was something he'd ever get over.

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><p><em>When he was five, and had the mental capacity to recognize it, Monroe had realized he was terrified of thunderstorms. Granted, camping out for the night in a slummy hotel with his parents doing who knew what in who knew what room didn't help the fact that he was five, and it was storming.<em>

_Clock work had been something that required too much concentration; clocks had been something interesting with their constant tick-tock-tick-tock, but nothing more to Monroe at the time. So, it had been either wandering the darkened hallways in a poor attempt to find his parents or staying in bed._

_Monroe had taken the bed option, curled up with the blanket over his head, willing the storm away..._

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><p>The storm hadn't gone away with his wishing, but had gone away eventually, and, eventually, he was able to fall into a sleep that lasted until morning. Monroe didn't know why he remembered that night with such crystal clear clarity. It was probably because that had been the first time he'd realized what a fear was, and that he had one of thunderstorms, but nonetheless, he remembered the night well.<p>

And then the other night that he remember with clarity was, after he was living on his own, the night the Lasser clan found out about his fear. They didn't find out for sure, per se, they'd made a comment about going hunting and Monroe had refused because it had just started thundering. They'd made their comments, riled him up a bit, and left. Angelina, however, had stayed back.

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><p><em>"You're really scared of a little thunderstorm?" Angelina had mused, walking circles around the couch that Monroe was perched on. His eyes scanned over a magazine, flickering to the television every so often- it was one of those times that he would have much rathered gone out and joined the clan in fresh kill. "You can rip apart a full-fledged human being and you're afraid of a thunderstorm."<em>

_Monroe hadn't looked up. Angelina hadn't liked the lack of attention._

_"Monroe," she had grumbled, jerking the book out of his hands. Monroe had looked up then, half irritated, only to have her lips descend upon his..._

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><p>He had found a new way to distract himself from the storms for awhile. Each time involved some snide remarks from Angelina until the clothes came off, and then there was the moaning of apologies, the promises that she'd never make fun of him again. They both knew better, but their impromptu 'storm-sex', as Monroe and Angelina had dubbed it, never brought a complaint to either of their lips.<p>

But that had only lasted for so long. He and Angelina weren't meant for each other. He'd learned that the hard way after he'd reformed. And when he looked back at those wild days now, they made him sick to his stomach.

And now it was back to the movies, or television, or clocks or books or blankets to distract him from the storms.

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><p>"Dude, it's eleven o' clock. I definitely don't want to be <em>here<em> at eleven o' clock," Monroe grumbled, looking with contempt at the detective in the passenger seat next to him. "No offense or anything, but come on."

"Look, this isn't my idea of a Friday night, either," Nick replied, not looking away from the road. His fingers were taunt against the steering wheel, his knuckles growing white with the pressure he was exerting.

He'd dragged him off on a road trip. A _road trip_. He hadn't expected that it would really take that long to get where they were going and get back, but they'd left at eight and they hadn't even reached the destination due to car trouble or directions or one thing or another. Monroe was irritated, as he had been voicing the past twenty minutes. But he was also noticing how Nick's eyes kept getting hazier; exhaustion was taking the Grimm, and taking him quickly.

"Pull over. I'll drive."

Nick flashed him a dirty look that all too well read _I can do it myself_ before verbally saying as much. "I'm fine. We're almost to the hotel, anyway."

"Okay, okay, fine."

It was a quiet trip the rest of the way.

When they arrived at the hotel- he couldn't believe he was spending the night with a Grimm, at a run-down hotel; he just _couldn't_- Monroe was glad to get out of the automobile and stretch his cramped limbs. Now he was just totally ready to hit the sack and get on with the stupid case first thing in the morning so that he could get home faster.

It wasn't until they were had both settled into their seperate rooms that he noticed the first rumble of thunder.

"Oh, _great_," he muttered sarcastically, rolling over in bed and burying his face as much as he dared into the blankets. With any luck, he'd just be able to go to sleep and sleep through it...

... but when was he ever lucky?

By the time that twenty minutes had rolled by, it was freely storming and the darkness of the hotel, which Monroe couldn't tell if it was just naturally that dark or if the power had gone out, didn't help a thing. And when someone knocked on his door, his already frayed nerves almost sent him through the roof.

Shivering partly from the cold, he trudged to the door and jerked it open. He was met with the sight of a bedraggled, tired-looking Nick, who promptly pushed his way past Monroe and started carrying on about the case.

"Considering how we're not sleeping," Nick muttered with a pointed glance at the window; lightning lit up the room as if it had heard him, "we may as well discuss what we're going to do tomorrow."

"How do you know I wasn't sleeping?" Monroe muttered, sinking back onto his bed, resisting the urge to curl up again. Not with Nick around.

"Because you answered your door too quickly," Nick replied, taking a clumsy seat next to him.

"... Oh," was his lame response as he folded his hands in his lap. He didn't want to talk about the case. He just really wanted to-

He flinched at the sudden thunder echoing around the room; the crack that had seemed far too close for comfort left his instincts trying to scatter for safety. He felt eyes on him, even in the dark, and with sudden heat rushing his face, he looked in Nick's general direction.

"You're afraid of thunderstorms?"

"No," he replied a little too quickly, his embarrassment deepening. It was always like this when somebody found out... let alone a Grimm. He was a grown man, for cripe's sake! He was a full-fledged _Blutbad_- he shouldn't be afraid of thunderstorms! "It's just a learned habit..."

"It's a learned habit to flinch at thunder?"

"Yeah, it is," he mumbled, kneading his fingers into the blankets at his side. "You got a problem with that?"

"Oh, no, not at all." But there was a smile in Nick's voice that left Monroe unsure if he wanted to crawl into a hole and die or just smack the living shit out of the Grimm. He'd handled the insults from Angelina better than he was handling this. Although, maybe that was because he had always associated _insults_ with _sex_... Whatever. Not anymore. _Definitely_ not anymore.

Nick set himself to talking about the case just then, and Monroe was content to listen to what he was sure was an interesting plan... if he had heard any of it. Meanwhile, he was counting the seconds between the thunder and the lightning, or was it lightning and thunder, and focusing on how far away the storm was slowly getting.

All he knew was one moment, he was relaxing slightly because the thunder hadn't been near as loud or near as constant and Nick was muttering something about murder, and then the next, Monroe was waking up with daylight streaming through the windows and the detective was passed out in his bed next to him.

He stared at Nick for a moment, blinking sleep from his eyes. The Grimm's face was half buried under a mass of pillow and blankets, his hair ruffled and his expression peaceful. Monroe sighed, long and unhappily, as if finding the Grimm in his bed was something that he hadn't entirely ruled out as impossible. When it came to Nick, everything was possible.

"Nick..." he muttered, squinting at his watch. Eight a.m. Great. "Nick... hey, man, wake up. We got seperate rooms for a reason, dude. People'll talk when we walk out together." He nudged the Grimm hesitantly, shaking his shoulder slightly. Nick stirred, if only just.

"Mmm...?"

"You fell asleep in my bed, man. Hogged the blankets all night," he lied easily, eyeing the blankets that Nick was still curled into.

Nick's eyes snapped open rather abruptly, taking in his position. He sat up just as quickly, almost toppling off the edge of the bed in his haste. He got, nearly fell, onto his feet, straightening his shirt in haste. "Sorry, I don't know what happened. The storm just ended up quieting and I guess I nodded off..."

"Yeah... It's alright."

Nick stood there, awkwardly, for a moment before stretching, moving away to the window. "Well. Yeah. At least it isn't storming anymore. Get on with the case..."

"Yeah... That's always a good thing," Monroe contributed, slipping out of bed and stretching also. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it, trying in a failing attempt to shake the sleep off of him. "Well..."

"Yeah. Right. Getting on with the case. I'll go check us out." Nick crossed the room with a few quick strides, shutting Monroe's hotel room door behind him quietly.

Monroe stared at the door.

That had to have just been as awkward for Nick as it was for him, right?

Sighing, he swung his legs out of bed and stretched again, padding quietly to the bathroom.

Well, if nothing else good came from the morning, at least Nick hadn't brought up his learned habit. That was something.

Nick was a good sport, for a Grimm.

... Even if _learned habits_ were actually really _fears_.

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><p><strong>Woo, you guys are probably tired of seeing my name under the Grimm archive, aren't you? Haha. Well, I love playing with the idea of Monroe being afraid of thunderstorms (some dogs are, so why couldn't some <em>Blutbaden<em> be?) and I managed to convey another theme I've been trying to write: the two accidentally falling asleep together, awkwardness ensuing. Go me. It's three in the morning. Lol.**

**Your feedback would be appreciated. As always, thanks for reading.**


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